


Of ghosts and Christmas (and home)

by HeyGina



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU where Bucky didnt go back into cryo, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Christmas, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:57:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyGina/pseuds/HeyGina
Summary: The first time Bucky realizes Steve is his home, it's Christmas.(-or the tale of bucky barnes' worst and best christmas nights, through the years).





	Of ghosts and Christmas (and home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashhearts67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/gifts).



_**I.** _

The first time Bucky realizes Steve is his home, it's Christmas.

It’s the first they spend together, living in that tiny apartment they almost can't afford, but at the same time, they don’t really have shit to celebrate. It’s the first holidays without Sarah, and winter has taken its yearly toll on Steve’s health, leaving him barely able to leave the couch for days. Bucky’s been the only one working for the past few weeks, leaving at sunrise and getting back home shortly before nightfall, too exhausted to do more than have dinner and go to bed – but happy, because Steve is there.

That evening, however, is different.

He knows Steve and his mum always celebrated Christmas, but he also knows his friend isn’t in the mood this year. Still, when he arrives home that night, he’s holding two paper bags on his hand, and a cheeky smile alerts Steve.

“What’s that?” he asks almost at once, straightening up as he sets the notebook he was drawing on aside.

“This, Stevie,” he begins, holding up one of the bags, "is our Christmas dinner”

He places it on the small table by the couch, because even if he’s starving after an entire day at the docks – his stomach can wait. He’s more excited about the second bag.

“I didn’t know we could afford a-“

“Its Christmas, of course we can,” Bucky stops him, waving his hand as if it weren’t a big deal. Truth is, they really can’t afford much… but he’s been saving for a few days. Steve doesn’t need to know that, though. “And this,” he goes on before his friend can argue, “is your Christmas present.”

The small smile that appears on Steve’s face right away makes the whole thing already worth it. He takes the bag from Bucky’s hand, shaking his head and opening his mouth to complain, Bucky knows – but when he peeks inside, his face lights up, and Bucky knows he’s forgotten whatever he was going to say.

“Buck," he whispers after a moment. “You didn’t have to.”

Bucky shrugs, sitting on the other side of the couch.

It’s a blank notebook, one of the expensive ones. Bucky knows Steve’s about to run out of space on the one he currently owns, and he also knows he wouldn’t say a word about it. He’s been reusing old pages and doodling on the newspapers Bucky brings home sometimes – but he wouldn’t say a word about getting a new one. Paper isn’t a luxury they can allow themselves.

“You didn’t have to,” he repeats, pulling it out of the bag. He’s smiling, however, and it’s enough for Bucky to know that he did have to.

He examines it for a few seconds and at last, shakes his head again. “Thank you, Buck. It’s- thank you.”

Bucky shrugs again, and means to reach out for the food – but then Steve clears his throat in a self-conscious gesture he knows too well, and he stops.

“I got you something too” he says, grabbing his old notebook back and pulling a loose piece of paper out. Bucky sits closer, trying to see what it is – and Steve hands it to him.

A drawing. It’s a drawing.

Bucky takes it with careful movements, as if he feared it would break at the touch. It’s a drawing of him, sat on the floor with his back against the couch, sleeping. He recognizes the scene right away: it’s from a few nights ago, one of those where Steve’s lungs sound like they’re about to collapse and Bucky stays with him until sunrise, just in case.

It’s not the first time Steve has drawn him – but it takes his breath away. For a few seconds, he can’t do anything but stare at the paper in front of him.

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve says, his eyes on the drawing as well, before Bucky has had time to speak. “But I thought…”

“Are you kidding me?” Bucky finally looks up. “This is amazing, Stevie. I love it. Thank you.”

Steve smiles.

And Bucky feels like everything is right in the world.

It probably isn’t. Their lives are a mess – but they’re there.  It’s Christmas, and they’re there, together. Steve is home, and Steve is there with him, so everything’s right in the world.

  

**_II._ **

The soldier only ever focuses on his mission. He doesn't have the time (or interest) to pay attention to anything else. He's perfectly aware of his surroundings, of course, in the alert mode that never leaves him, but he instinctively dismisses everything that isn't an immediate threat. The weather, the conversations of the people he passes by, a dog barking somewhere - it's almost white noise to him.

The night they send him to kill the daughter of some important politician is different. 

The world is full of lights. Colorful lights, and sometimes, music. He can't escape them, and though he doesn't truly understand why, they bother him more than anything else. Once he notices them, moreover, he can’t help but see all the rest too: the decorated trees, the garlands hanging from every shop and lamp post, the smell of food. He avoids the best lit and most crowded streets, but by the time he gets to his destination, he's all too aware of it all. The lights, the music, the decorations. And he hates it.

He sees his target through the window, from where he's hiding. He studies her for a bit: he knows she's home alone, he knows no one will look for her for a couple of hours. 

He finishes the job within a few minutes. It was an easy one, a simple, in-and-out mission - and yet as he walks away from the building, he wants to throw up.

There were lights in her apartment. Red, yellow, green. Garlands, hanging from a window. And a tree.

A tree. A Christmas tree.                       

It was small, standing on a table by the wall, and simply thinking about it makes his stomach turn, but he can’t get his mind off it. Or from the lights, the decorations.

He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t understand. But he can’t shake the feeling off, he can’t think of anything else. And it hurts like hell.

He wanders for hours, until he miraculously ends up back in the safe house. By then, his head is such a mess of voices and broken memories he can’t comprehend, he knows he’s going to the chair soon. He can’t fully make sense of anything, but he knows that much.

And he can’t stop thinking about the tree. Or the lights. Or the music.

It’s Christmas, and the Soldier has killed someone.

He wonders what Steve would say.

He wonders if Steve is celebrating, somewhere.

He wonders if Steve's even alive.

It hurts so much, he's relieved when they finally strap him to the chair.

 

**_III._ **

Bucky’s been in Bucharest for a while by the time Christmas arrives, and he hates it.

He hates the decorations, he hates the trees, he hates the music, he hates the crowds shopping for presents – and he hates the memories they bring.

He’s been remembering more and more ever since he left Hydra, but Christmas seems to have triggered something, because there are two in particular he can’t stop thinking about it.

One is good, from the times before the war, and Steve is there. The other one is darker, a memory that belongs more to the Soldier than it does to him, and though it’s as blurry as all the ones concerning the things he did back then – he knows what he did.

One is happy, one is sad, and he doesn’t know which one hurts the most.

But he can’t stop thinking about either.

He can’t stop thinking about Steve’s smile that night, when he saw what Bucky’d gotten him, despite how bitter he’d been about celebrating. He can’t stop thinking about the look on his face when he showed him the drawing, how eager he’d seemed to see Bucky’s reaction. He can’t stop thinking about him laying on that couch, sick and frail but laughing at the ridiculous "Christmas dinner" – and he can’t stop thinking about, in that moment, everything in the world had seemed right.

But at the same time, he can’t stop thinking about the woman he killed on Christmas Eve, who knows how many years ago. He can’t stop thinking about her little apartment, about how she was spending the night on her own but probably had family coming over the next day. He can’t stop thinking about her body amidst the lively decorations. He can’t stop thinking, can’t stop wondering about her family, her friends, about whoever found her.

Both memories haunt him for days, but it’s on Christmas Eve itself when they finally get him.

He’s almost glad the day has finally arrived, because although he despises the occasion and everything it’s brought, he has hope he’ll be able to get rid of those two memories after that night. More will come, he knows –they’ve been coming for months and he doubts they’ll ever stop– but right now, he just wants Steve’s smile that night and that girl’s body to disappear.

He doesn’t leave the apartment that afternoon, because he doesn’t even want to think about what day it is. He stays inside, safe from the decorated trees and lights and happy music that flood everything outside… but just when he’s decided to go to bed and try to get some sleep, someone knocks on the door.

He goes stiff, his mind going through all the possibilities all the possible exits in one split second – but when he looks through the peephole, it’s an old woman standing there. An old woman wearing a Christmas sweater that looks even older than her – and carrying a tray of cookies.

“ _Hello_!” she says when he finally opens the door. She smiles, though he’s too surprised to say anything. “ _I’m your neighbor, from upstairs. I brought you a little something, for Christmas._ ”

He recognizes her. He’s seen her once or twice in the building, and she’s on his list of people that aren’t immediate threats. But even then – he doesn’t know what to do, what to say. So instead, he stares.

She doesn’t seem to mind.

“ _I like baking for other people during the holidays_ ,” she goes on, “ _and I figured you’d be alone tonight, so you could probably use something to lift the spirit a bit, right?”_

 _“I…”_ He shakes his head, desperately looking for words. “ _I can’t…”_

“ _Oh, please, take them”_ she cuts him off, her smile widening. “ _It’s a present.”_

He does, at last, because he sense she’ll insist – and he doesn’t want to deal with that.

The tray is still warm when he takes it, and her face lights up when he does. For some reason he doesn’t want to dwell on, it makes his throat tighten – so much, he can barely thank her and say goodbye before closing the door.

And then, he breaks down.

It might be the memories he’s been trying to ignore for days. It might be the kindness he’s not used to, it might be the loneliness of the apartment when out there the world celebrates. It might be that woman dead by the Christmas tree, or it might be the thought of Steve, somewhere out there. He isn’t sure, but still, he breaks down.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, leaving the tray on the floor, and hides his face on his hands in an attempt of hiding the tears that are already coming out, but it’s too late.

He gives in and lets the memories come, and it takes hours before the sobs quiet down, before he runs out of tears and is only left with a dull headache that feels strangely familiar.

And in the quiet of Christmas night, alone and sadder than he remembers ever being, he can’t help but wonder about Steve. Where is he? Is he celebrating as well? Is he with his new friends? Or is he alone too?

That’s the last thing that crosses his minds before he surrenders to sleep, exhausted and hurting.  Steve.

It always is.

 

 ** _IV_**.

Steve and Bucky have been living in New York for six months when Christmas arrives.

They don’t talk about it. They don’t put up any decorations, they don’t mention presents. At night, when they sit together in front of the TV, closer than they’ve ever been, and Bucky pretends to pay attention as Steve watches something, they skip all of the Christmas movies. Even the commercials.

Bucky doesn’t know if Steve is doing it for him, or if it’s him that wants to ignore the holiday season. It would certainly feel weird to celebrate, after all that’s happened. Even if they’re okay now, even if they’re safe and together. And, after last year, Bucky doesn’t want to tempt fate. The only memory he has of Christmas time as the Soldier doesn’t haunt him as bad as it did last time, but he knows better than to trust his own mind, and he knows he’ll never forget that woman, dead by the tree.

So a quiet Christmas feels right.

But then the day comes.

“Buck?” Steve calls him that evening. Bucky is sitting right next of him, his head on Steve’s shoulder as he dozes off, his eyes on the TV but his mind somewhere far away. “Do you remember our place in Brooklyn?”

“Hmm.” Bucky straightens up. “I don’t know. A little bit.”

Steve nods, once, and reaches out for the coffee table in front of them, where a few notebooks and papers lay. Bucky has to smile – because that simple movement feels too familiar.

“I made you this,” Steve goes on, handing one of the drawings to Bucky. “It’s that apartment. I think I got most of it right, but I can’t really be sure.”

Bucky takes it… and for a second, forgets how to breathe.

He did get most of it right, he thinks. He can’t be that sure either, but when he looks at the drawing, he suddenly feels like he’s back there again, after a long day at the docks, exhausted and cold but glad to be back to Steve. Steve, who was always there. It’s such a strong feeling, he can’t say anything for a while.

“We spent one Christmas there, didn’t we?” he asks in a whisper, at last. “You… you gave me one of your drawings too. You drew me.”

Steve nods. “You remember that?” His voice fails to conceal his excitement, but Bucky knows he’s trying. He always does, when Bucky remembers something – as if he didn’t want to scare the memories away.

“Yeah. You were a pain in the ass. You were sick all the time.” Steve laughs. “And I got you paper, that year, didn’t I?”

“A notebook, yes. I remember thinking it had to be the most expensive thing out there, but I was too happy to say anything.”

Bucky smiles too. “Yeah. It was.”

They sit in silence for a while. Bucky can’t look away from the drawing, fascinated by how real it looks, how accurate it is. He remembers it so vividly now, he can’t believe how long it’s been. It feels as if they’d been living there yesterday… and a lifetime ago, at the same time.

Which isn’t completely wrong.

But they’re there, now. They’re together. It’s Christmas, and they’ve made it. They’re there, together, and safe, after a lifetime apart.

Home. Steve is home, and Steve is there.

And everything is right in the world.

 


End file.
